


wheel breaks the butterfly

by infiniteviking



Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Introspection, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteviking/pseuds/infiniteviking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flynn doesn’t need his eyes when Quorra’s away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wheel breaks the butterfly

                     And an angel dreams of sunrise  
                    And war.....  
                    —C.A. Silvestri, _Nox Aurumque_

The User’s eyes open to the blank ceiling above him, and he sheds dreams like shadows as he pads noiselessly into the front room.

Quorra is gone again; he can feel it in the stillness. No matter how much he teaches her, how invisible she can be when she wishes, he always knows when she’s home; she’s life and change and the will to learn, and she moves things around without asking (or needing) permission. But she isn’t here now. He glides surefooted across the floor, feeling illumination bloom beneath his tread, finds the zafu where he left it and kneels as he always does, finding his center at the center of all he has left.

All is cool and white around him; stray energies coalesce like fireflies as he binds himself to the moment, but he doesn’t see them, hasn’t seen past the silence in too many cycles to count.

He doesn’t need his eyes when Quorra’s away.

Once, ages past, he would have sifted painstakingly through all the energies of the home he’d made, touching every joint and plane out to the perimeter of his influence, checking obsessively for anything outside the true. (Once, he would have thought that a feat.) He doesn’t bother now; save for his dreams, nothing moves or breathes here that he didn’t wake and set in its place, and he hasn’t done that in a long, long time.

He quiets his restless soul and builds invisibly instead. Creates what cannot be, for the relief of knowing it cannot be broken.

Time is still, here. He raises cities in his mind, calls up armies and watches them fall, holds his dead wife and kisses his son, opens the Portal and lights the Grid with all the colors of the world. All this he does, changing nothing but the inside of his head, the only place change can ever start; and its smallness is the greatest thing there is, far better than staring outward at the dark.

A faint vibration shakes the stillness, and he closes his eyes. It’ll be a moment, perhaps a few, before he’ll have to look — before he’ll have to _really_ look, for he owes her no less — and all the world but her will lie cold before him again.

“Quorra,” he murmurs, hands relaxing on his knees, “I dreamed of Tron; first time in years.....” and doesn’t know what to make of the suppressed smile in her voice as she kneels beside him and answers, “It’s a sign.”  
___


End file.
